A/N: Hello my lovely people! Am I starting yet another Percy Jackson story? Yes, yes I am and I am not ashamed ahahahah.
If you're like me you love PJO and Taylor Swift. If you don't like Taylor Swift the door is that way—
This story idea came to me when I was listening to Love Story by Taylor Swift. I suggest you give it a listen before you read this. It will help set the tone and help you understand the story better! Now without further ado, let's dive into the story.
Oh wait... a few more things. This takes place in a fictional time that is inspired by the High Middle Ages. The High Middle Ages was a period of European history that lasted from around 1000 to 1250 AD. Because of the time period, there will be things mentioned and referenced such as sundials, manors, feudalism, serfs, etc. I tried my best to be historically accurate but I most likely got a few things wrong, so that's all on me and I apologize.
Here's an unofficial list of helpful information you may or may not need. Feel free to scroll to the story or keep reading.
. Feudalism was a type of social and political system where landholders provided land to tenants in exchange for their loyalty and service. Imagine a pyramid. Kings were at the very top with lords (like barons) just below them. Below the nobles were knights (also called vassals) and below the knights were peasants (also called serfs). The nobles ran estates called baronies or fiefs for the kings that were protected by the knights and cared for by the serfs. To put it simply, imagine yourself (a serf) working for your boss (the lord) to keep up the farm and land (the barony) that you and many others live on. You are protected from outsider's attacks by the farm's personal police (the knights/vassals) who also live on the farm, and your boss must report to the owner (the king) of the land on which the farm stands. And that my friends, is feudalism.
. Religion. Almost everyone in medieval Europe was SEVERELY religious — Christian Catholic, strictly speaking — and none were more religious than the nobles and royals. However, since this is a PJO fanfic and Percy Jackson is based on Greek Mythology, everyone in this world is a pagan with unidentified deities.
. Titles. A ruling king's daughter was a princess and his son was a prince, as were their daughters and sons and their daughters and sons unless they were given other titles. For example: if your grandparents on your father's were a king and queen, your father's siblings (your aunts and uncles) would-be princesses and princes, as well as you and your siblings and your cousins. Confused? Me too.
. The legal drinking age of medieval times was for every age, for it was very common for adults and children alike to drink ale, rum, wine, beer, etc. These "adult" drinks were much more mellow and less alcoholic than the versions we have today. Clean water also wasn't easily accessible or purified that well, so it was actually SAFER to give little Edward a cup of rum than a sketchy glass of river water.
. The Black Alman was a popular medieval folk dance that couples and large groups would participate in at parties and gatherings and celebrations. It's like our modern Macarena or YMCA. And the Saltarello was another popular medieval folk dance with a lot of hopping steps and partnering that was commonly danced outside. You can look them both up for a visual reference. Just search the dances' names!
. A consort is the spouse or companion of a reigning monarch, or in this case the non-royal spouse or companion of a royal.
. A rake is a f*k boy. Aka, a manwhore.
Eleven Summers and Falls
The warm, summer air clung to her like a second skin and tucked around her in all the right places like a perfectly woven shawl. She inhaled deeply as she peered listlessly at the twinkling constellations above.
The she-child had seen only eleven summers and falls, and already was as radiant as the stars. Her hair was said to be as soft as the setting sun, her skin as smooth as newly spun silk. Her eyes were said to hold all the secrets of the storm, and her mind could rival any one of her mother's royal advisors.
She who was the jewel of the royal family, the prize of the kingdom, the pride of the people... was currently hiding away on the balcony like a coward.
Her silver skirts were as light as feathers, her bodice as thin as paper, her slippers as soft as satin... and yet, she never felt more restricted.
The girl inhaled deeply as a light breeze sweetly soothed her skin, sending a flurry of curls and skirts into the air. Oh, what she would give to be as free as a fish or a dove or a serpent... to be rid of these stone walls and tight dresses and unyielding rules.
"Are you finding anything worthwhile up there?"
The she-child startled and turned around. The Prince Consort, a tall man with her same flaxen hair and intense brown eyes, came forth from the shadows. He joined her by the railing.
His clothes were slightly crooked and mussed as though he had donned them in haste and without a care. His silk tickled when they brushed her bare arms.
"I found the Huntress," she said softly.
The Prince Consort scanned the heavens with a relaxed eye. "Ahh. My favorite constellation. Do you remember how I taught you to find it?"
"Was Aunt Artemis not the one who taught me how to find it?" the girl said lightly.
He placed a hand on his chest, feigning indignation. "Yes, well, I helped a great deal, didn't I?"
The two smirked and fell into a comfortable silence.
In the young dusk of evening, noises from within the castle bustled and swelled. Instruments, laughter, and chatter all melded into one, trickling through the windows and doors that had been flung open to greet the summer air.
"I know you don't favor pretty parties or fancy feasts or beautiful balls," her father began.
"I don't not like those things," the girl said hurriedly. "I simply don't love them. Can you blame me, though? The balls go on far too long and the company at the parties are mind-numbingly dull."
His deep chuckle was like the rumble of a wheel. "I see that you've inherited my despise for entreating."
"Sometimes I wish I'd inherited Mother's love for parties," she whispered. "Life would be much more bearable."
He whispered as well. "I couldn't agree more."
"Frederick!" came a woman's voice that was carried on the wind.
The Prince Consort squeezed his daughter's shoulder in what he intended as a comforting manner. "It seems your absence has been noticed by someone other than myself. You best return before your mother sends out the kingsguard to find you."
The girl sighed, knowing he was in the right, and slipped back inside.
On the far end of the ballroom, a fine ensemble of vocalists launched into song as ballgowns of a thousand colors stepped and clapped beneath a canopy of chandeliers. Toes tapped on smooth stones, throats hummed and chuckled, and laughter spilled from the painted lips of the lavishly dressed guests.
On the fringes of the dance floor was the woman the girl sought — or rather, it was the woman who sought the girl.
"Darling! There you are!" Princess Athena called. She wore the finest materials their realm had to offer; a crimson gown of luscious silks and velvets that swirled like a sigh as she approached. In her hair, a circlet twinkled like a thousand little lights. Unlike her spouse, her attire had been meticulously selected, and not an inch of fabric was out of place.
Athena half turned so to present the trio of guests by her side.
"This is His Royal Majesty, King Poseidon, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Amphitrite Celaeno, and His Royal Highness, Prince Triton Celaeno. Your Majesties, Your Highness, you remember my daughter, Princess Annabeth Chase."
Old lessons in linages and snatches of court gossip came to Annabeth's mind. Poseidon, one of three, had been rather rakish in his youth, and to tame his wild ways his king father had chosen a beautiful yet banal bride for him to wed. Amphitrite had born Poseidon a healthy but boorish boy and their kingdom by the sea had flourished grandly under their care. Yet rumors of cheating scandals soon arose and clung to the unhappy couple like cobwebs that could not be banished, even with time and threats.
"Annabeth, how lovely it is to see you again," came the queen's measured words. They were followed with a refined dip and a strained smile.
The young princess inclined her head gracefully. "A thousand welcomes to you both, Your Majesties. And to you, Your Highness."
By the tension in his shoulders and the dullness in his eyes, Prince Triton, who had seen only a handful more years than Annabeth, was clearly uninterested in attending their ball.
But one never forgets their courtesies when greeting a royal, even when a royal themself. The pinched boy obediently stepped forth and took Annabeth's hand in his.
"It is a pleasure to be here," he muttered, planting a sloppy kiss on her skin. "I thank you for opening your gates to us."
Annabeth hid her grimace as she untangled her hand from his. It was as though his lips had bestowed half a mouth of saliva upon her skin. "You and your family are most welcomed within our walls."
"She's grown so much, Athena," said a deep voice. Poseidon had finally spoken, startling them all. He had a strong voice and a kind face. "I remember when she was a wee babe, all pink and tiny..." Annabeth blushed furiously at this recollection. "...It seems like forever ago."
"Yes, they grow up so fast, don't they?" Athena replied thinly.
It was no secret that Athena and Poseidon weren't on the best of terms. Their rivalry, whilst having softened from years of ruling their respective lands and raising their respective families, had been fierce and unyielding in its youth. It had commenced over scoring the part of a city's patron ruler and it had ended almost in bloodshed and battle. Fortunately, these times have long since passed, and what now remained of their wild, raging feud was only a shadow of what it once was.
Athena turned to Amphitrite. "Young Triton is becoming very fine and regal. I hear he intends to follow in his father's footsteps."
The queen flushed with pride, one of the few emotions of any authenticity she actually displayed, Annabeth figured.
"You are correct as always, Your Majesty. He has indeed taken to the sea. But it is you who must swell with the most pride and joy when you look upon young Annabeth, for the songs of the princess's beauty simply don't do her justice."
Athena preened at these words. "They would make quite a pair, would they not?"
A pair of strangers, Annabeth thought.
The lady mothers shared a look as the children stared at each other awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.
Just then, a blonde boy appeared in the sea of guests like a beacon of light in the harshest of winter storms.
The girl sent a look of earnest longing to her mother who was in a surprisingly lenient mood, for Athena nodded her consent.
"Your Majesties, Your Highness, it was lovely seeing you again. My pardons." With a cutesy and a smile, Annabeth was slipping through the crowd without a backward glance and was gone.
"Thought you needed rescuing over there," the blonde boy said in greeting as she appeared at his side. He was garbed luxuriously in sky blue silks and satins, the same clothing as the rest of the royal family.
"Come and walk with me, sister. You can tell me the fairings of Prince Scale Tail."
Annabeth couldn't be happier to obey, so together the young prince and princess took a lazy lap around the edges of the room.
The Chase siblings, grandchildren of the great King Zeus and mistaken more often than not for twins, were revered by many throughout their realm and the realms of their neighbors and allies, which was proved tonight by the choruses of greetings that were offered every few steps.
"Was he still as pompous and posh as ever, I presume?" Malcolm said as he nodded politely to the Duchess Hecta, a kind woman with a giving heart, who stood silently by the foot of the dais.
Annabeth contained a snort behind her hand. "He's so serious! One would think he'd outgrow it by now."
"Dear sister, as someone who's been forced to socialize with him all my long, fifteen years, I know first hand that the prince has only grown into his seriousness. They don't say he was born with a frown on his face for no reason."
Annabeth could feel the weight of their mother's sharp stare berating them from a room away as she and Malcolm cackled like crows in their corner.
"And how fares our mother?" her brother asked after they had caught their breath. "I saw her conversing with you as well." He flagged down a servant and snagged champagne for her and wine for him.
Annabeth gracefully accepted the flute and raised it to her lips. "Don't look now, but she's eying us as if we'll somehow singlehandedly ruin her ball."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "As if her darling little cherubs would ever wish to ruin her night." He tossed back his drink with practiced ease. "But that is Mother for you. Ye of such little faith."
The young princess let out an unladylike snort. While she was perfectly behaved (a cherub indeed) she could understand why her mother might have suspicions when it came to her brother. It was he, after all, who had set fire to the drapes two autumns past, forcing their guests to flee into the gardens for safety. Their mother never quite forgave him. The accident part, being intentional or not, did not matter in the slightest.
The Black Alman struck up, a famous court dance. The enticing tune drew lads and maidens, ladies and lords, royals and nobles, and much more to the dance floor where they began a complicated sequence of tiptoeing and jumping steps.
Her brother gestured to the moving bodies with his glass. "Would you like to join them?"
The she-child winced as their old dancing lessons stumbled and tripped across her memory. "No thank you."
She sent an amused look at his half-filled tumbler. "But it appears for a good reason. You're consuming that rather swiftly."
Malcolm flashed her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A royal must set himself after what little joy he stumbles upon before it disappears."
Now it was Annabeth who rolled her eyes. "You should consider a future in vaudeville. You have quite the dramatic flare."
"Me, a performer?" he chuckled lightly, although the tenseness in his shoulders did not recede. "Highly unlikely."
She sensed she had hit a nerve, although there being no clear indication of tone or speech. This left her feeling uncertain and quite queer.
The young prince raised the glass to his lips and finished the drink with a graceful tip. "How've you been enjoying the night thus far?"
Annabeth took another generous sip from her flute, wondering if she should pose a question about her suspicions (which could be follies, for all she knew) or play along with her brother's charade. She chose the latter.
"Oh, you know, I simply cannot contain myself from soaking in yet another one of Mother's fantastically engaging and stimulating balls."
"Come now, don't be cruel." Malcolm wiggled his eyebrows as if they were alive and adopted a mocking lilt. "She's only allowed to throw these every year. Let her have her fun."
"Twice every year," Annabeth muttered, "and she has plenty more occasions to celebrate when it isn't the solstice."
He flashed his teeth; a real smile this time. "Dear sister, when you step back and contemplate the reason behind our mother's insatiable needs for festivals and finery, you will be alarmed by the truth."
"And tell me, brother, what is the truth?"
"Why, the truth is—" he broke off.
"What? What is it?"
Something on the dance floor had captured Malcolm's eye.
Annabeth craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what exactly it was.
She saw the lights, the party, the ball gowns. She saw lords and ladies, queens and kings, servants and knights. And she saw a boy make his way through the crowd with hair as dark as wet ironbark and skin as warm as sun-kissed wood.
"Who is that?"
Malcolm was as bad as any one of their mother's noisy maids. He, without a doubt, knew everything about everyone's personal affairs.
"That is the son of the Baron and Baroness of the North," he said faithfully. "Rumor has it the Baroness had a smashing affair with King Poseidon. It was supposedly his wife who found them together one night, and it was his wife who arranged for the Baron to wed the Baroness after her little discovery."
Malcolm fell silent as the Baron's son suddenly appeared before them.
"Hello," the boy said in an oddly cheerful manner.
His eyes looked like coming home. The princess blinked at the sudden intrusion. Good gods! From where had that thought come?
Never before was she so relieved that a person's thoughts were entirely for their own. Blushing, Annabeth mentally shook herself.
The boy bent low at the waist. He wore leather in favor of silk, satin, or velvet; a tunic fitting of his lower station. "It is a pleasure to offer my sincerest regards, Your Royal Highnesses. Your home is very, ah, royal. May I ask, did you have your bushes trimmed to look like horses on purpose?"
The royal siblings shared a look of the utmost bewilderment. What was he doing? Swift and passing salutations from high ranking nobles and fellow royals were expected at these sort of functions, but for a lower noble, the lowest of the lowest, having the nerve to approach a royal (never mind two) with the intentions of conversation, was simply unheard of.
It was the young princess who finally returned the greeting, for Malcolm was still gawking at the boy like a fish out of water.
"Er, good evening Lord..."
And it was then she realized Malcolm hadn't given her a name.
The Baron's son offered a crooked smile. "Jackson. Perseus Jackson."
He didn't try to kiss her hand, which Annabeth noted and greatly appreciated.
"Good evening, Lord Jackson," she said smoothly. What inner fluster she might have experienced could not be detected by the levelness of her voice, she was pleased to find.
"How are you enjoying the ball?"
"I'm finding there's much fun and entertainment to be had here, thank you." His backward glance was so brief that the young princess almost did not see it, for his attention had returned to her as quickly as it had left. "And what of you?"
"Me?" she echoed.
"Aye. How are you enjoying the ball?"
"Oh, erm, I'm enjoying it just fine," she said. Malcolm snorted into his glass. For this he received an elbow to the ribs.
"Ow," he muttered sourly, glaring at sister, who kept her eyes pinned on Lord Jackson.
"Your family oversees our northern barony, yes?"
The Baron's son inclined his head. "Indeed, Your Highness."
"Harsh land, is it not?" Malcolm said, massaging his side. "Such cold winters you have."
Lord Jackson shrugged casually. "It is our pleasure to serve the royal family and the kingdom, no matter the weather or season."
He shot a look behind him once more, and as he did so, his body tensed and seemed to scream help.
That's it, she thought, knowing that look all too well.
"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked as Annabeth's champagne flute was pressed suddenly into his chest.
"Dear brother, what are balls for? Dancing, of course." She grabbed the hand of a flabbergasted Lord Jackson and pulled him to the floor.
"I fear I'm not the realm's most skillful dancer," Annabeth admitted as they maneuvered their way past swaying couples, trying to sound more confident than she actually was. In truth, she didn't know what possessed her to run to the floor, and especially when she spent so much time and energy avoiding said floor.
It must've been the champagne, she thought, keeping her eyes trained in front of her, acutely aware of the Baron's son's breath caressing her neck and the weight of his hand in hers. Only a drink would cause me to do such a thing. Champagne problems.
"You're in luck, then, for my dancing abilities can't be much better than yours," came his soft voice.
On the floor, they took their positions, faced one another with open faces. They were of equal height.
As if on cue, the notes of the previous song faded away into the restless air and the flutes immediately stepped in to whistle out a lazy folk song.
Lord Jackson shyly turned so that they were side by side. He smelled of saltwater and fresh hay and crushed mint leaves. Shivers tiptoed up and down the princess's spine as she clung to his hand.
"Tell me something about yourself," the young princess blurted. She curtseyed, he bowed, and together they stepped forward to commence the Saltarello. "I don't want to dance with a stranger."
Annabeth held her breath as the boy cocked his head. It would be dreadfully awkward if he did not speak.
He was as silent as a tomb for a few painstaking moments.
"I'll have seen twelve summers and falls in two months," he said finally.
A relieved breath escaped her lips. "I'll have seen twelve summers and fall in one month."
"Ha," the Baron's son barked. "What a coincidence."
They clasped hands, facing one another, and spun around.
"What else?" she asked, eager to distract herself from her body's strange reactions from being so close to him.
"Erm..." he glanced at the crowd again, but this time his gaze wasn't as disturbed when it returned. "I love the water. The sea is my favorite place in the whole wide world."
Annabeth smiled. That explained the salty scent. "My Mother's olive grove is my favorite place."
"In the whole wide world?" he grinned.
"In the whole wide world," she confirmed. "What else?"
A lock of dark hair fell across his brow as his face scrunched up in thought. "I'm an only child, but I've always wanted siblings."
They parted before she could reply. Lord Jackson circled the princess in a series of hopping steps, then she did the same, and they came back together.
"I have three brothers and they're all menaces. The twins, who are much much younger than me, and Malcolm, who is four more summers and falls than I," she said when they rejoined. "I could tell you all about him but I'm sure you've already heard of his telling adventures."
He offered her a crooked grin. "Who hasn't?"
The princess felt her lips curl up. Nothing was ever a secret at court. Nor was anything ever kept concealed for very long, especially when concerning the young heirs' and their mischievous adventures.
"Touché. Next."
"You're bossy," he said simply, surprising her greatly.
"I am the royal princess," she said after a few seconds of grappling for a reply. "It's what I do."
She expected him to stutter his apologies or politely excuse himself, overcome with embarrassment and bashfulness.
What she hadn't expected was for him to simply grin at her in an almost condescending way as if to say, sure you do, or, whatever you say.
This reaction irked her greatly, for she was a princess, the only granddaughter of a grand and powerful king. Not a soul had ever dared to treat her in any such way... and yet, for that very same reason, she found herself intrigued by him even more.
"I love blue food," he blurted out after a moment of thought.
Annabeth arched a brow, mirth dancing across her face. "Blue food?"
A blush stole across his cheeks. "To spite the Baron, who claimed there was no such thing as blue food, my mother dyed our flour with berry juice. I'll never forget his face when he saw all the blue loaves of bread and biscuits and cookies in our kitchens. The servants didn't quite know what to think or quite what to do... it was priceless," he smirked. "And since then, our tradition of blue food has continued, thus making it my favorite kind."
"Huh... How very interesting." Annabeth mused.
Her skirts unfurled like the petals of a flower as they spun again. This time she tripped and almost landed on him. He caught her at the last moment, their noses nearly touching.
Before she could help herself, she opened her mouth. "Who do you run from?"
Watching his face go blank was like watching someone snuff out a flame. "Who said I was running?"
"I may or may not have experience in the art," she confessed quietly, almost in defense, as they straightened. "I can also just... tell."
His face was as unreadable as a wet ink, an expression that haunted her as the steps pulled them away.
A feeling of dread filled her lungs as she curtseyed to her new partner, some third nephew of a duke or such.
What on earth was she thinking, being so bold and informal with her inquiries? She didn't know him! Had she forgotten herself?
The princess largely ignored her partner as they danced, too preoccupied with the regrets that whirled in her mind. When it was time for the steps to spin her away she absentmindedly sent the third nephew of the duke an apologetic smile.
"My sincerest apologies, Lord Jackson," she began as he approached. He circled, bowed, and took her hand once again. "I completely overstepped."
She expected him to brush her off with a polite yet distant reply, or perhaps just simply shut down the conversation altogether. But he surprised her yet again by saying: "My father."
Annabeth blinked rapidly, mind chasing words. "The Baron of the North?" she managed.
"The one and only." He nodded to the edge of the hall where a portly, bald man was standing with a small cluster of nobles. From even a room away and with dancers obstructing her view now and then, she could tell he was glaring at them.
The boy furrowed his brow and looked up to the high ceilings for guidance, before dropping his gaze back to her.
"The Baron isn't fond of me. If we're being honest, he despises me with all his heart. Why? Well, I couldn't give you an answer to save my life. I think he's just a soured man who hates joy and dreams and takes pleasure in crushing other people's hopes and happiness."
The glumness in his eyes spoke louder than any words could. His voice was far away and foreign as he spoke.
"My mother adored writing. It was her life's passion. She would write from sunup to sundown, spinning whole stories from her mind and weaving whole worlds onto paper. When evening came she would come to me and let me sit on her lap as she read me her words, and I would fall asleep to the tales of her heroes and creatures and quests.
"That all changed when she was forced to wed the Baron. Perhaps he was threatened by an educated woman, perhaps he simply didn't take to fantasy and fiction. Either way, he forced her to give up writing—among many of her other pleasures—and if he caught her he'd reign hell upon the house. I remember him thinking he saw her with a quill once... she shooed me from the room before I saw too much, but she couldn't hide the bruises forever."
Annabeth's throat closed up. She was no stranger to hearing about the mishandling of wives or seeing the visible proof on the wrists and necks of the ladies at court. She had no experience of this herself, though. Her own parents' relationship—while strained and distant—was never violent or physically harmful. The worst her parents ever did was engage in shouting matches and door slamming, but even that was extremely rare. They often chose the diplomatic approach, or the silent treatment, for the sake of maintaining appearances.
"Lord Jackson," the young princess began. Her heart ached for this woman, and the boy as well, for no person, no matter their rank, should ever have to endure such mistreatment.
"Percy," he said quietly, looking taxed and drained. "I've just told you things I've never told anyone for reasons beyond me, so it seems only fitting that you call me Percy."
The she-child studied him for a moment. "I'll allow it, but on one condition." She twirled and stepped. Curtseyed and hopped. "You must call me Annabeth."
His smile could rival the sun. "Deal."
And so, for the rest of the night, the two children danced and talked and laughed as if they had been fast friends all their lives. When the ball was finally coming to an end they swore that they would see each other again. No matter the cost, no matter the effort.
.
.
.
Fun facts!
I include fun facts at the end of every chapter in my Wicked fanfic 'Sometimes Good People Do Really Bad Things' and I wanted to continue that tradition here because it's fun.
1) As I said in the summary, this story was inspired by Taylor Swift's song Love Story. If you know the music you will see which scenes were specifically inspired by certain lyrics.
2) I not only used lyrics from Love Story but I also took some of my favorite Taylor Swift lyrics from her other songs and wove them into the story. Let me know if you can find any of them or all of them!
3) I was also inspired by Game of Thrones — the young characters' dialect and vocabulary, in particular, as well as the world-building and politics.
Please review! Many thanks!